Actions and Words
by glintwarsgreatest
Summary: A collection of one shots, told from Katniss' point of view, on life with Peeta, taking place after Mockingjay. Rating changed from T to M due to language. The first chapter is three one shots combined.
1. Chapter 1

**Content**

I lay awake, careful not to move, making sure my breathing remains even, so as not to wake him. Before we became what we are now (which I myself am not even sure of), before our world changed so completely (again), when I would lie awake in his arms I would fear waking him because it would bring on an onslaught of guilt and fear. Guilt over using him to calm me while never voicing what he was to me – for me. fear that he would realize that he was wasting his time and would leave me cold and alone. (But he would never do that. Not even when his mind wasn't his own.) But now.

But now.

Now I lie awake in his arms to feel him. Because feeling him – being with him – if fills me to the brim with life. Life that I was sure had been extinguished the day I had to watch my sister explode in front of me, leaving me without a body to bury and mourn over. Life I swear I don't deserve but am happy to have because h always tells me I give his life – his blessed life- reason. And while that isn't the only reason I continue to live ( because I've come to realize there are _so _many reasons) it is the reason I even began to live again in the first place.

So when his arms tighten around me as he slumbers, instead of the old guilt laced gratitude, I feel loved. A smile plays across my lips as my eyes flutter closed, and I am content.

**Watching**

The smell of fresh bread lulls me awake, a better alarm than any Capitol manufactured one could ever be – and my heart races at the thought of what awaits me downstairs. Silently I tiptoe down my staircase (our staircase) always on hunters soundless feet, until I reach the bottom to stand in the doorway of my (our) kitchen.

His back is to me, bare, because that is how he sleeps at night, and I watch as his shoulders roll as his hands knead dough. Baking bread is his morning ritual, just as sneaking down to watch him is mine. It's amazing how something so domestic and mundane has become such a center of gravity where my sanity is concerned, but a large part of me is happy for it, is grateful for it. Also I know it is not simply the task that centers me, but the man performing it.

When he turns his head and catches me watching (as he does every morning) a bashful smile flashes across my face before I walk towards him, wrapping my arms around his waste and kissing the hollow between his shoulder blades. He grins, but continues his work as I stay wrapped around him, and for a moment, the entire world is still and life is perfect.

**Loving**

He never pushes me, he never would. He would live out his days with me in mere companionship if that's all I wanted from him. But lately it hasn't been enough. Its not enough for him not to know. To not know that when he smiles I fall apart inside and it feels so good. To not know that when I wake up from my nightmares and he is here – god I have never been more grateful for anything in my entire life. To not know that when he hurts – when he is taken away for those brief periods of time – my soul screams out and I can feel the panic rising in me like an explosion that only calms when his eyes uncloud and he comes back.

Once he promised me "always". I need him to know that he is my "always" as well. So when it happens, its not really a question of if I want it, or if I need it (because god I do), but more the reality that not having every part of him, and not giving him every part of me is simply unfathomable. I've always been one of action, he has always been one of words. So when my actions leave him speechless, except for the few questions of "Are you sure?" and "Are you ok?", my heart feels as if it is so full it will burst. I am the one with the words tonight, in this moment. When I run my hands through his hair and tell him what I have to say, I am not surprised my words flow freely and fluently because he makes me better than I am when I'm alone.

So when I say "I'm sure. God I'm so sure. I need you. Not just here and not just now, but all the time. I need your compassion, your kind heart, and your gentle spirit. I need your smile and your heart – I need you. Always.", and his tears begin to from, I kiss the corners of his eyes and know my words reassure him this isn't just about comfort, or primal instincts – it's about love – my love for the boy with he bread and his love for me.

So after, when he asks "You love me, Real or not Real?"

I hold my hand to his cheek, and tell him "Real."

Because nothing has ever been more real than this.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit on the couch, a book in my hands, pretending to read, but really I'm watching him. He is bent over trying to fix the broken leg of the table, which would only take me mere minutes to do, but I know he wants to do it himself. He groans exasperatedly as he manages only manages to make it worse and I try unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, hiding my face in my book. I hear him chuckle, and I lower my shield to just below my eyes. One of his eyebrows is cocked and his eyes are shining as he playfully addresses me.

"You know your book is upside down right?"

With that I can no longer contain my laughter and neither can he, and for the first time in a long time the tears streaming down my face are not because of rear or sadness or hatred; they are the product of joy and mirth and happiness. They are the product of him and I and our life together.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for how long this took to update, I've been working on an Hunger Games AU that I got a little too caught up in, but I will be trying to keep both updated._

* * *

I sit at the windowsill, watching in silence as the rain pours, each clap of thunder thankfully breaking me out of my train of thought. He is in town and I am trapped inside. Both alone, the most dangerous place we could be when it is not of our choosing. I almost crave the days our danger was physical rather than mental. When our minds weren't prisons but tools of survival. Now our thoughts and our memories are the danger. And it is hell.

Suddenly I cannot take it anymore. Bolting upright I walk to the door, uncaring of the weather's intensity and the inherent danger it brings. My legs carry me to where I know him to be, as if they have minds of their own.

Outside the bakery is dark, and I fumble with my key, until finally flinging the door open. I find him, sitting in his office, quietly murmuring to himself. Willing his mind to not snap, willing it to allow him to remain in charge. His head snaps up when he hears me in the doorway, a combination of relief, worry, and amusement playing across his features.

"Katniss. What the hell?" His words are meant to be angry and stern, but the crack in his voice reveals just how close he is to breaking, how badly I am needed in this moment to keep him sane. I cradle his head against my soaked body, massaging the scalp under his hair.

"I decided something today." I say to myself as well as to him. "We've been through too much. With all of that shit, the awfulness of it all and how it almost kept us apart….. I'm not letting anything else keep us apart again. Not your flashbacks, not my head, and especially not some bad fucking weather."

I feel him smile against me.

"You are so stubborn Katniss Mellark." He chuckles and I smile.

"When it comes to the people I love I suppose I certainly can be." I reply, and he begins to speak, a sarcastic remark, but I cut him off.

"Peeta Mellark if I were you I wouldn't say what ever it is you are about to say right now."

With that his laughter only increases and I join him, and as we laugh we cannot be bothered to notice the ending of the storm outside.


End file.
